


The One Where Papa Sucks a Dick

by catacombsaint, silverthurible (catacombsaint)



Category: Ghost (Swedish Band)
Genre: Banter, Embarrassment, Horns, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Starbucks, Sunglasses, Tails
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 13:04:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11624124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catacombsaint/pseuds/catacombsaint, https://archiveofourown.org/users/catacombsaint/pseuds/silverthurible
Summary: Papa Emeritus III catches his fire ghoul jerking off, and the results might surprise you.





	The One Where Papa Sucks a Dick

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was a collaboration between me and silverthurible! i'm really happy with this one, hope yall enjoy it. thanks for reading!

Ifrit sat, alone, in the tour bus, scrolling through his phone. Chops and the other ghouls had gone out to explore the city the band was currently stopped in. Even Dew had gone with them, albeit without the leash that the air ghoul had suggested they keep him on. The fire ghoul had elected to stay behind. He wasn't feeling up to being seen today. Instead, he was wallowing in a bit of self-pity, looking at photos of himself on his old Facebook profile, photos taken before his initiation as a ghoul. He sighed wistfully at a picture of his old self—his human self—throwing up a peace sign, comparing the soft flesh-toned hands in the image to the blueish-black, fiercely clawed hands that held the device in front of him. Chops stood next to him in the photo. It baffled Ifrit that his best friend never seemed at all bothered by the way their bodies had changed since joining the Church.

 

When he shut off the screen he saw his reflection in the surface, and stared at the fat spiraled horns that jutted out from his temples. Even with the concealment magic that the Church had taught him to make him appear human, sometimes there were days when Ifrit wished he'd been told _ before _ his initiation that becoming a ghoul was going to turn him into some kind of half-demon monster thing. It wasn't so bad when he was at home on the grounds of Castle Lincopia, surrounded by the hundreds of other ghouls who looked just like him, but since his promotion to a band ghoul, being on tour and seeing normal,  _ human _ people again, and having to use spells just to be in public without every Christian in a five-mile radius calling for an exorcist, he was having a minor existential crisis.

 

Still, sitting alone in a bus was pretty boring. 

 

Boredom and solitude made him restless.

 

Ifrit fiddled around with his phone again, claws clacking against the glass until he got bored again almost immediately—there was  _ nothing _ to  _ do _ . Effectively faking your own death and cutting off most contact with the outside world to join a satanic church made social media a bit dull, didn’t it?

 

So he paced.

 

He paced, and fixed his cassock once or twice or five times, and peeked out of the bus windows, pointed ears twitching and swiveling at every stray sound. At one point he tried to do pull ups around the bus until an unsettling creak alerted him of how terrible of an idea  _ that _ was. If he broke something he'd never hear the end of it from the band  _ or _ the crew. And what if  _ Papa _ found out he’d broken Church property?

 

_ Punish him, probably… _

 

The guitarist threw himself heavily down onto a seat, his body slumping into the leather. His mind lingered on the thought of Papa’s stern gaze, how his pope would probably berate him and leave him feeling three feet tall for being so reckless. Probably. Ifrit didn’t actually know much about Papa’s personality, as he’d never had a close personal meeting with the man. But he’d seen him give his sermons—from the back of Castle Lincopia’s chapel, since he was usually so late to the events that the pews were full—and now he was standing with the pope onstage, every night, watching him charismatically charm throngs of adoring followers, leaving women, men, and everyone inbetween screaming and swooning and ready to fall at his feet. He’d play along with Papa’s jokes and jaunty stage antics, but he knew that was all that his dancing and banter and lewd gestures were: stage antics. A reflection of Papa’s commanding presence, his ability to capture an audience in some kind of thrall. It was all an act. Ifrit knew that the  _ real _ Papa must be a man of poise and dignity, a man who would pierce him with that shockingly mismatched stare while he brought him to his knees and told him what a bad ghoul he’d been—

 

Wait, how long had he been groping himself through his pants?

 

Long enough to get himself hard fantasizing about Papa. He sighed at himself, feeling like an idiot, but he didn’t stop. It wasn’t like anyone was around to see him...regardless, he looked around before continuing, glancing left and right as if someone was going to appear in the bus with him. Confident that he was in the clear, he lifted the skirt of his cassock and unzipped his fly. Cool air on his cock made him bite his lip as he freed it from his boxers. He winced at the sight of himself—his body’s corruption had transformed  _ every _ part of him. Minding his claws, he traced his fingertips over the row of soft fleshy scales that ran up the underside, shivering at the sensation. Ugly as he thought they were, he couldn’t deny that the new additions to his anatomy had made him more sensitive. Even the lightest touch made his toes curl.  

 

Still, he looked away, or let his eyes flutter shut as he traced along the seams where each scale met. Not being able to look at himself—regardless of which part—wasn't a place he'd imagined he'd be this late in his life, but here he was. The aversion to the interesting change to this particular part of his body didn't stop the way his tail flicked and twitched when he dragged his thumb along the slit. Behind his eyelids, in the safety of his own mind, he imagined his fingers replaced with...Papa's. Papa's ungloved, bare hand, wrapped around his cock, stroking him and telling him he'd earned it...he got so caught up in the fantasy that he didn't notice the squeak of the bus door opening. 

 

"Enjoying some alone time, eh?" 

 

Ifrit's eyes shot open at the sound of  _ that _ Italian accent. Papa was peering into the bus, partially obscured behind the curtain that divided the entryway from the rest of the vehicle. One hand reached for the oversized sunglasses the pope was wearing, lowering them to expose his eyes. He cocked an eyebrow and smiled.

 

The fire ghoul practically ripped his own dick off with the force with which he launched to his feet. 

 

"P-Papa!" he yelped, voice cracking as he frantically tried to stuff himself back into his pants.

"Hullo, Fritz," the pope said, looking incredibly unbothered by the state he'd caught Ifrit in. The guitarist was too flustered to correct him on his name. He shuffled awkwardly, trying to shimmy around to position himself comfortably inside his underwear, but, unfortunately, he was still hard. Papa entered the bus fully, taking a small sip of the Starbucks cup he carried. He was already dressed for the stage, face painted and in his trademark suit and spats. "Where are the rest of my dear ghouls?"

 

"Th-they went out," Ifrit stammered, hanging his head to make up for his lack of a mask. His face burned and he tried in vain to cover the bulge between his legs, still obvious even under the skirt of his cassock. "To...eat. Or something. Y-your unholiness."

 

"Hm," Papa hummed thoughtfully, looking around the bus. He set down a large convenience store bag on the couch where Ifrit had been sitting. "This is a terrible bus. Why did nobody tell me you poor things travel like this?" Ifrit didn't know how to respond to that. "Anyway," the pope continued, peering over his shoulder at the ghoul, "Why aren't you joining them? Did you stay behind just to jerk off?"

 

Papa was throwing enough questions at him to make the fire ghoul break a sweat. As if he wasn't already doing that. 

 

The pope moved around the bus, inspecting every surface and cushion. He swiped a gloved finger across the dining table, making a noise of disgust at the grime that stuck to the fabric. Then he looked at the seat cushions, “hmm”ing in his throat at the clawed slashes—and were those toothmarks?—in the leather. And then he went to the kitchenette area, opening an overhead cabinet to tut in disappointment at the junk food inside, but something else caught his eye. He stood on his toes and leaned in close to the cabinet, zeroing in on whatever it was. 

 

“How did this get cracked?”

 

The fire ghoul’s stomach dropped. Oh, God. Oh, Satan. Oh, whatever deities were sitting back right now and laughing at him. Being scolded by Papa was about to leave the realm of fantasy.

 

“The cushions I can understand,” Papa said, turning to face Ifrit again, who was still standing dumbly in the middle of the bus. Papa had removed his sunglasses completely and chewed on one of the earpieces, crossing his arms in front of him. “But the cabinet?” He advanced in Ifrit’s direction with a slow step. “Was someone hanging from them?” 

 

Ifrit chewed his lip, tail tucking between his legs and coiling around his own thigh. He tried to look down to avoid Papa’s stare, but that didn’t help, considering Papa was at least three inches shorter than the ghoul. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact, so he side-eyed the window, pretending like he was watching to see if the others were back yet.

 

“Well, I know it couldn’t have been the aether ghoul. He is too tall. The air ghoul is, eh...I don’t think he works out, much. The earth ghoul is much too well-behaved to be hanging from things. The little water ghoul I have  _ seen  _ hanging from things, but he’s too light to break them, yes? So, that leaves only you,” Papa took another step, like he was closing in on prey. “Fire ghoul.” The guitarist sucked in an obvious gasp. His face was so hot, he lived up to his element.

 

“I’m sorry, Papa!” he blurted out. Fucking hell, what had come over him?

 

"Don't worry about it," Papa quickly replied, shrugging and pivoting away from the ghoul.

 

Wait, what?

 

The pope turned to gather his things, making his way back to the door. Ifrit's head spun—where was the scolding? Papa wasn't upset with him? Then why did he get so close to him, and all serious like that?  _ What? _

 

"P-Papa, you're not...I broke Church property, aren't you, like...I don't know, mad, or something?"

 

"Church property isn't  _ my _ property, Fritz," Papa answered, winking as he took another sip of his coffee. "Besides, I should leave you now. I've taken up enough of your alone time. Unless..." he paused, one foot practically out the door. "Would you like some help with that?"

 

“ _ H-help? _ ” Ifrit’s voice cracked in response, spade thwacking against his knee when his tail tightened around his leg. He didn’t want to make any assumptions about what Papa meant, sure, but for all that things could fly over his head, that felt...very heavy handed. Maybe.

 

“Yes.” Another overly long sip until the drink was empty. And well after. Ifrit wouldn’t comment on the sound, but his ears twitched and jittered in place. “I can help,” Papa said, his mouth still curled around the straw. The black paint on his upper lip emphasized the small smile that tugged at the corners. The fire ghoul pointedly averted his gaze just a little harder when he noticed that it also emphasized just how  _ full _ Papa’s lips were. That was absolutely not what he wanted to focus on when he was still uncomfortably hard and haphazardly tucked into his slacks at the moment.

 

Ifrit swallowed dryly. “Help me with…”

 

“With that.” Papa nodded in the general direction of the ghoul’s crotch. 

 

Ifrit couldn’t say he wasn’t curious as to exactly how Papa could help him. He thought about what his help  _ might _ entail, his imagination sending a rush between his legs. But...but it was  _ Papa _ . The unholy pope himself. Was that even allowed? Well, it had to be, since Papa was the one offering. If that’s what he was even offering. Maybe he wasn’t offering  _ that. _ Maybe he had some kind of magic potion or an anti-boner spell hidden up his sleeve. He was  _ Papa _ , after all.

 

While the fire ghoul stood there considering increasingly irrational thoughts, the pope had again dropped his things and approached him. “You don’t have all day to think about it, Fire,” he said, standing tantalizingly close. “The other ghouls will be back soon, I imagine.”

 

Shit. He was right. Ifrit had forgotten his bandmates existed.

 

“...Y...yes, Papa. Please, um...help me.” 

 

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Papa began removing his gloves, and poked a finger into the fire ghoul’s chest. He gave him a push, sending him toppling back down onto the leather couch. “Now,” he said, dropping to his knees between Ifrit’s legs, “Papa will have you feeling better in no time.”

 

Oh, Jesus. Lucifer. He was on his knees. Between his legs. And now he was pushing the cassock up, and unzipping his fly, which was already half-undone. He made a small sound of amazement as he pulled Ifrit’s cock back out.

 

The ghoul was far from a virgin, but he felt like one. He wanted to cover his face. He'd never felt so exposed in his life as he did right now, with Papa holding his length in his surprisingly very soft and well-manicured hands, marvelling at it.   
  
"You've got a pretty big, ah... _ pene _ ," Papa laughed to himself. He pulled back skin to expose the head, ghosting a fingertip over it. "That's how we say it in my mother tongue," he added, teasing a lick up the underside, making Ifrit suck in air and bite down on a knuckle. "You could also say  _ cazzo _ , if you wanted to be more naughty." Then his lips were on the tip of the ghoul's cock, and Ifrit's fangs threatened to bite clean through his own hand.

 

This was unbelieveable.    
  
Sure, it was happening in front of him—Papa was  _ definitely _ kneeling between his legs and he was also  _ definitely _ teasing the head of his cock with the tip of his tongue, tracing a slow, hot path along each scale.

 

Okay, sure. Yes, this was  _ happening. _ And it was something that he was uncomfortably aware that most other ghouls had only dreamed of. Absolutely  _ aces _ . Fantastic, but...   
  
Ifrit couldn’t bring himself to watch. He just couldn’t do it.

 

His tail, long since uncurled from around his leg—because having sat awkwardly on the sharp spade before had lead to an embarrassing trip to the infirmary—thumped heavily on the cushion beside him, over, and over, and  _ over _ —all while he tentatively gnawed on his own hand and tried to find any other object on the bus that he could to focus on instead. 

  
He settled on an electric kettle on the kitchen counter. Oh shit, he forgot he left that on. His tail thumped the cushion a little harder than either of them were prepared for when he felt Papa’s fingers circle the base of his cock and squeeze ever-so lightly. The sound startled both of them into jolting.

 

“You are not used to…” the dark pope gestured vaguely down at the fire ghoul’s lap to where he was lavishing his attention, “... _ this _ , I am guessing? You are still a new ghoul, yes?” 

 

Papa’s smile was crooked, faltering for just a moment when he caught sight of Ifrit staring off somewhere in the middle distance. Ifrit noticed that  _ he _ noticed out of the corner of his eye and, oh god, did he offend him? Did he look disinterested?  _ Was he going to stop—? _

 

Apparently not, because Papa took nearly half his length into his mouth with one bob of his head, wrenching a moan from the fire ghoul that he fought to choke back. 

 

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," he said when he came back up. "Every ghoul changes the same way. Think of it like, ah...like ghoul puberty."

 

"I know, P-Papa," Ifrit swallowed and said, "But it's... _ oh, god _ ...i-it's just...different. Papa."

 

“ _ Different…? _ ” Papa braced an arm over Ifrit’s leg and rested his cheek in his hand, the other still stroking the flustered ghoul at his own leisure. He wasn’t sure how to deal with Papa looking up at him like that beneath thick lashes, other than looking off at the kettle again—and, if Ifrit wasn’t mistaken, was he...batting his eyelashes a little?    
  
“I think it would be different like the ‘Special’ ghoul, yes? That is what I think of,” Papa says, and Ifrit nearly took a chunk out of his own lip when squeezed again, strokes getting just a bit faster, “Do you have something, eh,  _ different _ like that, Fritz?”   
  
“I don’t... _ mn _ ...I don’t know what you mean?”

 

Papa leaned forward again, breath ghosting over Ifrit’s cock in a way that made his tail twitch.

 

“Maybe not, then.” Ifrit didn’t have much time to consider what difference Papa was talking about before his lips parted, sinking down around him in a slow, deliberate way, tongue rolling along the underside of his dick. His entire body tensed. Holy  _ fuck _ , that felt amazing. How was Papa so good at sucking dick? How many times had he done this?! And—oh, Lucifer, Papa teased fingers around his balls like he knew exactly where to touch and how slow to suck him to make his toes curl, and he was going to...he was going to…

 

“Papa, I’m gonna—”

 

“Can I show you something to make you less tense?” the pope abruptly said, stopping his ministrations. 

 

“What?!” Ifrit gasped, breathless from being brought so close to the brink of orgasm. He hoped his tone hadn’t sounded too sharp.

 

“You must promise not to tell anyone,” Papa said. Ifrit had no fucking clue what he was talking about. “It will be our little secret, yes?”

 

Ifrit nodded, but he wasn’t sure what he was agreeing to. 

 

Papa shut his eyes, going back to licking him, sighing and furrowing his brow like he was concentrating on something. Then Ifrit’s jaw dropped, watching two goatlike horns emerge from Papa’s forehead, growing and growing until they reached at least two feet long, curving subtly towards the back of the pope’s head. His hair grew with it, becoming just slightly longer and shaggier, the horns moving some of his slicked-back bangs out of place to hang over his face. Papa fanned out the fingers of the hand that he stroked Ifrit with, keeping the long claws that his nails grew into out of the way. Their color shifted into a metallic gold, and the color of his skin changed with them, his hands taking on a charcoal-black appearance like...like Ifrit’s own forearms? Was Papa part ghoul, or something?

 

When his lashes fluttered open again, his now-matching white irises and pinpoint pupils sent a chill down the ghoul’s spine. 

 

“Your eyes!” he gasped, as if  _ that _ was the weirdest thing about the Papa that knelt before him right now. 

 

“You probably thought this was a contact lens,” the pope chuckled, winking with the eye that was  _ always _ white. He was right. “Everybody usually does. Of course, when I was a younger man, we did not have colored lenses, so most peoples just thought it was, ah, a strange birth defect. I did, too, actually...”

 

Ifrit had all but tuned out Papa’s rambling. He watched the pope’s wet, but miraculously unsmeared, lips move, prattling on while he languidly worked the length in his hand, but the words were drowned out by the ghoul’s absolutely unbearable urge to just... _touch_ him, or something, or let himself be touched, or just _looked_ _at_. Papa was a curiously beautiful old man, but in this form he was fucking gorgeous. It was like his entire presence changed, casting an energy over Ifrit that made the ghoul want to fall at his feet, submit to him, kiss the papal shoes like a guilty Catholic. 

 

But here he was, sitting above his pope, watching him sink his lips back down onto his cock and shuddering because this time he eschewed the teasing and swallowed him down completely, until Ifrit felt the tip reach the back of his throat. God damn.

 

This time, Papa made no move to pull away, nose pressed to Ifrit's pelvis and mouth hot and tight around him. And, g _ od, _ Ifrit just felt more and more desperate to touch him, even raising his hand to run his fingers along one of Papa's horns. But the action was cut short, hand dropping to his side when Papa did  _ something _ with his tongue—was it  _ forked??  _ Sweet Satan, it  _ was _ forked, it definitely felt like it was—that made his eyes roll back despite how he struggled to focus.

 

Ifrit decided that if he died suddenly, right here, right now, he was certainly at peace with it. This would be a good way to go. Chops could split his things with Dewdrop, that would be fine. And maybe Dew wouldn't try to bite him over any of it. 

 

He was so close again that his chest felt like it was burning—maybe he  _ was _ actually dying.

 

His fingers curled tight as he opened his mouth to stutter some kind of warning, only for Papa to pull away abruptly, cool air hitting Ifrit so brusquely that he jolted and sputtered out a flame.

 

“You know—woah!” Wide-eyed, Papa leaned back to avoid the short tongue of fire, though it was hardly spit far enough to reach him.

 

Ifrit smiled sheepishly, pointed ears turned red at the tips and tilted down. He almost set his pope on fire. Now he  _ really _ wished he'd died instead. Papa only smiled back, somewhat deviously.

 

“And you said there was nothing special about you, Fritz.” Ifrit hadn't actually said anything, but…

 

“Very cute, eh? A fire ghoul that breathes fire! I like that.” Papa seemed more charmed by that than Ifrit was the first time it happened. At least  _ someone  _ liked it. “Did you know that Alpha can do that too? I am beginning to think maybe that this is not so much of a coincidence.”

 

It took Ifrit’s frazzled brain a moment to remember who Alpha was. The unfortunate, terrifying fire ghoul he’d replaced...given more time to fret over the thought, Ifrit might have worried that their shared ability to breathe fire meant that he was going to end up like him. There wasn’t much time to think about that now, though—after being denied orgasm  _ twice _ , every little hum and lick from Papa made him twitch and gasp and attempt to buck his hips up, but the pope’s palm, laid gingerly on his pelvis, kept him firmly glued to the couch. He was beginning to think that Papa was denying him on purpose.

 

A long few minutes of silence passed between the two men, Papa looking up with devilish charm while he allowed his awestruck ghoul to touch his horns and even his hair. He would wink or give a purse-lipped smile before sinking back down to bury his nose in Ifrit’s pubic hair, somehow never smudging his painted face. Soon the fire ghoul’s panting again turned into whining and moaning, and his stomach was tight, and—oh, Jesus—Papa was teasing his balls in tandem with his mouth, and Ifrit was close again and…

 

...And his phone was ringing?

 

Shit. Papa moved to let him stand, and he crossed the bus to pick it up off of the table where he’d left it. Chops’s name was onscreen. Shit, shit. Ifrit stood there staring dumbly at it, dick still dizzyingly hard, Papa still on his knees, patiently waiting for him to answer.

 

“It might be an important call,” the pope said.

 

He had a point. There could have been an emergency. With the way his day was going currently, Ifrit wouldn’t be surprised if Chops was calling to tell him they’d all gotten themselves arrested, or that Chair had fallen asleep at a street crossing and been run over or something. So, sighing, he answered his phone.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Hey, mate,” Chops said, "You want anything from Maccy's?"

  
  
Oh, for the love of—

  
  
"No thank you," Ifrit responded flatly. 

 

  
"You sure? Have you seen how big the drinks are, here?"

  
  
"N-no, I'm fine, really," the fire ghoul quickly answered, trying to get him off the phone as fast as possible.

  
  
"Not even a little thing of chips?”

  
  
"Not even chips. I'm fine— _ oh, god! _ ” 

  
  
Silently, undetected, Papa had crept over on hands and knees to where he stood, and now Ifrit's cock was inside his mouth again. 

  
  
"What was that about?" Chops asked.

 

“Wh…” Ifrit clenched a fist in his curls, pleading with his eyes for Papa to stop. Well, not to  _ stop _ , but the fire ghoul wasn’t prepared to explain to his best friend that their pope was sucking him off in their tour bus, and he wasn’t at all confident in his ability to hold back his moans if Papa was going to keep doing that  _ thing _ he was doing with his tongue. “W-what was what about?”

 

“You made a weird noise—hey! Tarzan!” the aether ghoul audibly fumbled with his phone, his voice becoming distant to yell, presumably, at Dewdrop.

 

“Oh...um…”

 

“Hold that thought, mate,” Chops cut him off, “Dew’s trying to climb over the register—fuckin’ hell, I’ve got to go. We’ll be back at the bus in, I dunno, ten minutes?” 

 

As he hung up on Ifrit, he could still be heard barking at the water ghoul to stop terrorizing the cashier. Ifrit practically threw his phone down to groan and gasp for the breath he’d been holding during that painful conversation, bracing his hands on Papa’s horns to keep his knees from buckling.

 

“Papa,” he breathed.

 

The pope grinned up at him, rubbing circles over the head of his cock and making him twitch and lurch forward. “Yes?”

 

“The... _ fuck _ ...the other lads...t-they’ll be back soon.” He chewed his lower lip, going crosseyed at Papa humming affirmatively around his length yet showing no signs of stopping.

 

“P-Papa?”

 

No, he still wasn’t stopping. 

 

“Papa, please…”

 

And Ifrit was pretty sure he was being ignored. He wasn’t sure how long this went on for, but he eventually slumped back against the table where he’d dropped his phone, letting his head fall back with a groan. The guitarist wouldn’t dare to try and pull Papa off of him; he still gingerly gripped his pope’s horns like just that was a violation of some rule he’d get thirty-nine lashes for breaking. It wasn’t even like stopping would help the situation, anyway—being caught with Papa and a raging hard-on would be just as difficult to explain as being caught with Papa’s lips around said hard-on. The others would probably congratulate him for the latter, actually, but that was  _ still _ an embarrassment best left avoided. 

 

He wanted to cum. He  _ needed _ to, but he couldn’t, stuck teetering on the edge of the release he so desperately wanted. It was like there was a supernatural force over him keeping him entirely at Papa’s mercy. His hips tried to buck into the pope’s mouth, like they were trying to speed things up, but clawed hands kept them stationary while Papa worked him so terribly slowly that all the poor fire ghoul could do was tremble and scrub his own hands over his face, keeping them over his eyes in anticipation of the shame that he was certain he was about to experience. 

 

He peeked through his fingers down at Papa. Then he turned his head to the side, and if all the blood in his body hadn’t been gathered between his legs, it would have drained from his face at what— _ who _ —he saw through the front window of the bus, strolling in a distant group down the sidewalk outside. 

 

“Papa!” Ifrit yelped, “It’s...they...t-the…!!”

 

Papa cocked an eyebrow up at him. “It is the what, now?”

 

“The  _ lads _ !”

 

“The  _ lads _ …?” the pope repeated, “Ah! You mean the other ghouls, yes?”

 

“Yes!”

 

Outside, the others were approaching dangerously fast. Ifrit broke into a sweat on top of the one that Papa had already worked him into. 

 

“Well,” Papa sighed, “It would seem that our little private fun-time here has been cut short, eh?” 

 

Ifrit nodded frantically. 

 

“That is a shame. There were so many other ways that Papa could have helped you with this,” he mused, wiggling the ghoul’s cock around in his hand. “I suppose that maybe we can try them next time.”

 

There wasn’t enough time to consider the implications of Papa’s words. The ghouls outside were getting closer. “Y-yes, Papa, next time, absolutely,” Ifrit sputtered, panic starting to set in.

 

“Wouldn’t it be funny if the other ghouls...what did you call them, the ‘lads’? It would be so funny, I think, if they walked in on us like this—”

 

“Oh, Papa,  _ please _ ,” the fire ghoul practically sobbed.  _ Please stop talking and let me cum _ , he thought. He didn’t want to be disrespectful, but they were in the middle of an emergency.

 

“Alright, okay, yes,” the pope said with a disappointed click of his tongue. “I will let you orgasm, now.”

 

And just like that, as if on command, Ifrit did so. He came so hard he nearly fell over, Papa finally allowing his hips to move and thrust into his mouth, and the rest was a blur. The last thing Ifrit remembered before his soul momentarily left his body was curling in on himself and balling both fists up in the hair between Papa’s horns, almost crying his pope’s name. Everything went white after that.

 

When he came back down to reality, he was stood upright, cock already tucked and zipped back into his pants, and Papa was turned away from him to greet the others, who must have walked in at some point while Ifrit was busy astral projecting. They stood clustered in the front of the bus. 

 

“Hello, my ghouls,” Papa beamed, tugging his gloves back on. There wasn’t a horn or a claw in sight on him. He looked completely human again. The others apparently hadn’t seen anything. Judging by their uninterested, hadn’t-just-walked-in-on-a-blowjob expressions, they hadn’t seen  _ anything. _

 

How did Papa even pull that off?

 

“Sorry we took so long, Papa,” Chops said, slurping from an obnoxiously oversized fast food cup. “Chair fell asleep while he was ordering.”

 

“I told you my name is  _ Zeph— _ ”

 

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Papa replied, interrupting the air ghoul. “I am glad that my ghouls are well-fed.” He smoothed back some disheveled hair and glanced at Ifrit, who felt his face grow hot remembering that he was responsible for that.

 

“What brings you ‘round to the busses anyway, Pops?” the aether ghoul asked. 

 

The pope didn’t even need to pause to think of a good lie. “Fritz here was in need of some, ah, spiritual guidance,” he said, clapping a hand down onto Ifrit’s shoulder and giving it an affectionate pat. Ifrit hazily mumbled some kind of vague affirmation. Sure. Spiritual guidance. That’s what they were doing.

 

“His name is  _ Ifrit _ , Papa,” Chops chuckled.

 

“Eef-reet,” Dewdrop parroted behind him, shoving a fry into his mouth while the air and earth ghouls dispersed further into the bus. Papa wove around them, gathering his things.

 

“Silly me,” he said, “I’m not very good with names. Anyway, I must leave you now. We will have a good ritual tonight, yes?” 

 

“Yes, Papa,” the aether, water, earth, and air ghouls said in unison. Ifrit was still too dazed to speak.

 

Before their pope left, he turned back to the fire ghoul, flipping his sunglasses back down over his eyes. 

 

“Oh, and... _ Ifrit _ ,” he said, “Come and see me after, hm? There are some other things that I would like to help you with.”


End file.
